


Fathers And Sons

by Suryaofvulcan



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suryaofvulcan/pseuds/Suryaofvulcan
Summary: Jon discovers he can’t always rely on first impressions, Malcolm learns a few things about his captain, and Trip sees the whole picture.





	1. Jon

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Spoilers: Chapter 1 - 1.12 Silent Enemy, Chapter 2 - 1.16 Shuttlepod One, Chapter 3 - 2.03 Minefield.
> 
> A/N: I originally started writing this story after reading several Archer/Reed stories in which Malcolm’s parents, especially his father, were cast as unloving or even abusive. It isn’t my favourite fanon trope, so this story is part-parody, and part alternative interpretation.
> 
> Betas: Many thanks to the fabulous SueC and ShiShi.

They strolled through Enterpriseâ€™s corridors in companionable silence. It had been late, well into gamma shift, by the time Malcolmâ€™s impromptu birthday party had broken up. Hoshi had retired to bed long ago, and as Jon, Trip and Malcolm had finally left the armoury Trip had muttered something about making one last check on the engines before he turned in. Heâ€™d hurried off towards engineering, leaving Jon to walk Malcolm home.

Jon risked a glance at the man beside him and suppressed a sigh as he recalled the way Malcolmâ€™s face had lit up at the sight of the pineapple filling in his birthday cake. Jon was rather proud of that, even if most of the work had actually been Hoshiâ€™s. It was a small victory, but Malcolm so rarely gave anything of himself away that to Jon it felt like a triumph.

It was hard to believe such a small thing could have produced a look of such sheer joy. How much joy had Malcolm known in his life, Jon wondered. His brows knit together as he remembered the conversation heâ€™d had with Malcolmâ€™s parents â€” especially the sneering, sour-faced Stuart Reed. No, there couldnâ€™t have been much joy in that childhood, Jon surmised. Malcolmâ€™s father had looked like the kind of man whoâ€™d kick a puppy, and the contempt in his voice during their brief conversation had been unmistakeable. And how could Malcolmâ€™s parents not know what he liked to eat? In Jonâ€™s book that was one step short of neglect.

He stole another glance at Malcolm. Could that be it? The man was a mass of contradictions â€” strong yet somehow fragile; self-contained almost to the point of repression. Something must have caused him to be like that. Jon could imagine Stuart Reed, the stern military commander, ruling his family like he ruled his men. Heâ€™d probably expected his children to be on their best behaviour at all times â€” seen but not heard, wasnâ€™t that how the old saying went? â€” and doled out the severest punishments on a whim. Jon could imagine him locking little Malcolm in his room for the slightest infraction, and perhaps even inflicting an arbitrary beating if he felt like it.

They reached Malcolmâ€™s door and paused. Malcolm gazed up at Jon from under long dark lashes, a small smile on his lips. He really was very â€¦ appealing. â€œThank you for the cake, Captain. It was very thoughtful.â€

If only you knew, Jon thought, even as he made a small dismissive gesture. â€œIt was nothing.â€

Malcolm continued to stand outside his cabin, but didnâ€™t open the door. The silence lengthened between them, and Jon began to wonder â€¦ did he dare?

Malcolm cleared his throat. â€œWould you care to come in for a nightcap, sir?â€ His voice was soft and husky, his English accent still exotic to Jonâ€™s ears. Jonâ€™s heart hammered and his mouth went dry. Robbed for the moment of the power of speech, he simply nodded, but he didnâ€™t miss Malcolmâ€™s little smirk as he opened the door.

Jon stepped inside the small windowless cabin and couldnâ€™t resist glancing around, searching for some clue to this enigmatic manâ€™s private life. There wasnâ€™t much â€” a few books tucked neatly onto the shelf above the desk, the bed made with military precision, a couple of charcoal drawings of old sailing ships on the wall. But no photographs or portraits of Malcolmâ€™s family, Jon noticed. Not even his sister. It was positively heartbreaking.

â€œBrandy?â€ Malcolm offered, pulling a bottle out of his locker.

Jon examined the label and let out a low whistle. â€œVery nice. Thanks.â€

Malcolm reached into the locker again and pulled out two glasses. He set them on the desk and poured out two generous measures. â€œWhat shall we drink to?â€ he said, handing one glass to Jon.

Jon was momentarily at a loss as he searched for something appropriate. â€œTo â€¦ living to fight another day?â€ he said at last.

Malcolmâ€™s smile was warm as he raised his glass in acknowledgement.

They drank, and the alcohol burned its way down Jonâ€™s chest and warmed his belly. He couldnâ€™t take his eyes off Malcolm. The younger man looked deliciously dishevelled, and Jonâ€™s fingers itched to run through his hair. He held on tightly to his glass and tried not to squirm under Malcolmâ€™s careful scrutiny, until at last Malcolm seemed to reach a decision. He put his glass down on the desk and took a step closer to Jon. â€œCome and sit down.â€

Jon felt Malcolmâ€™s hand slide into his. His grip was firm and dry as he tugged Jon over to the bunk. They sat side by side, Malcolm so close that Jon could feel the other manâ€™s body heat seeping through his uniform. He took another quick sip of his brandy, but it did nothing to quell the butterflies in his belly. He turned to Malcolm. â€œDo you think â€¦?â€

Whatever inanity had been about to come out of his mouth was cut off as Malcolmâ€™s lips pressed tenderly against his. The kiss was soft and sweet, just lips against lips, but Jonâ€™s heart soared as he savoured it. This was what heâ€™d wanted almost from the first moment heâ€™d laid eyes on the Englishman. And to have Malcolm make the first move was just perfect â€¦

All too soon, Malcolm retreated. â€œOh,â€ Jon breathed as they parted, words eluding him once again.

Malcolm smirked. â€œWell, I was hoping for a little more of a reaction than that,â€ he murmured.

Jon felt a blush rise into his cheeks. â€œSorry. I just didnâ€™t expect â€¦ you, of all people â€¦â€

Malcolmâ€™s smile widened. â€œWell, I may have been brought up to believe there shouldnâ€™t be fraternization between the ranks, but for you â€¦ I believe I might just make an exception.â€

Of course, that would have been another of Stuart Reedâ€™s rules â€” what a loveless, joyless family they must have been. Jon longed to show Malcolm what a captain could be â€” should be. He leaned in and nuzzled Malcolmâ€™s neck. â€œI promise Iâ€™ll try to make up for the pain of your childhood,â€ he murmured.

Malcolm drew away, a frown creasing his brow. â€œThe â€¦ what?â€

â€œI know it canâ€™t have been easy, the way your father â€¦â€

â€œJon, what on earth are you talking about? Youâ€™ve never even met my father.â€

â€œNot in person, but when I spoke with him over the comm â€¦ Malcolm, I couldnâ€™t believe how cold he was, how contemptuous â€¦ I canâ€™t imagine what it must have been like for you â€¦â€

â€œWait,â€ Malcolm said, cutting him off. â€œYou spoke with him? When?â€

â€œYesterday,â€ Jon confessed, â€œwhen we were planning your birthday surprise.â€

â€œYou called him from the ship?â€

â€œWell, yes ...â€

Malcolmâ€˜s lips pressed together in a thin line â€” the grim expression more than a match for this fatherâ€™s, Jon realised. â€œWeâ€™re a military family, Captain. Did you even consider what my parents would think when they received an unexpected call from my commanding officer?â€

Jon shook his head, still trying to process the rapid change in Malcolmâ€™s mood. â€œI donâ€™t understand.â€

Malcolm got up and paced across the room, rubbing the back of his neck. â€œItâ€™s the call every servicemanâ€™s family dreads,â€ he said, turning to face Jon. â€œA call my father has had to make himself, more than once. Every military family knows what that call like that usually means â€” that something serious has happened to their loved one. That heâ€™s been captured, or seriously injured, perhaps even that heâ€™s dead.â€ He scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. â€œYou probably scared the life out of them, Captain. And for something as trivial as a birthday cake! My father would have found that very amusing, Iâ€™m sure. No bloody wonder he was cold and contemptuous.â€

Jon suddenly remembered Malcolmâ€™s motherâ€™s opening question: _Is Malcolm all right?_ And his fatherâ€™s â€” _Is he in some sort of trouble?_ â€” took on a very different meaning from the one Jon had assumed.

â€œOh, god, Iâ€™m sorry, Malcolm. I just didnâ€™t think.â€

â€œClearly.â€ Malcolmâ€™s tone was acerbic.

â€œBut â€¦ they didnâ€™t know you were an armoury officer. And your father didnâ€™t seem very pleased that youâ€™d joined Starfleet instead of the Royal Navy,â€ Jon said defensively. â€œThey couldnâ€™t even tell me what your favourite food was.â€

â€œAnd from that you concluded Iâ€™d grown up unloved and abused?â€

Jonâ€™s cheeks burned. He didnâ€™t dare look at Malcolm. How could he, when the half-joking question had been so close to the truth? He hung his head, unable to meet Malcolmâ€™s glare any longer.

â€œOh my god, that is what you thought, isnâ€™t it?â€ There was real anger in Malcolmâ€™s voice now. â€œBased on a single conversation, you thought my father â€” my parents â€” were capable of â€¦ what, exactly? Neglect? Physical abuse? Worse?â€

Jon couldnâ€™t answer.

â€œMy father is a remarkable man, Captain. That you could even think such a thing about him shows how little you know about him â€” or me.â€ Malcolm stalked towards the door, and as it slid open, his professional mask slid into place. â€œGoodnight, sir,â€ he said, although for a moment Jon was sure heâ€™d heard â€˜dismissedâ€™.

Jon rose and left, Malcolmâ€™s rebuke still stinging his ears, and as the door slid shut behind him he leaned back against the bulkhead and tried to control his pounding heart. What the hell had just happened?


	2. Trip

Damn, it was cold. Trip didnâ€™t know how long theyâ€™d been sitting there, huddled together in chilly silence. Heâ€™d been drifting, in the hour since Malcolm had ... forcibly dissuaded him from sealing himself inside the airlock. His legs had long since turned numb, and he noticed heâ€™d stopped shivering. Was that a bad sign? He couldnâ€™t remember.

Maybe they should have moved off the metal floor and onto the padded benches on either side of the â€˜pod, but that would have meant moving away from the one remaining source of warmth in the small cabin. Malcolmâ€™s body heat seeped into his side. Maybe this would be the last time heâ€™d ever be close to another human being. If he had to die â€¦

The phase pistol lay forgotten in Malcolmâ€™s lap. _Tried to save him for ya, Capâ€™n._ Tripâ€™s mind drifted back several weeks, to the morning after Malcolmâ€™s birthday party.

â€œSo - howâ€™d it go last night?â€ Trip had grinned and waggled his eyebrows as heâ€™d taken his customary seat at the captainâ€™s table and tucked into his eggs.

Jon had just grunted and glowered into his coffee.

â€œCâ€™mon,â€ Trip cajoled, â€œI made myself scarce - donâ€™t tell me you chickened out?â€

â€œI didnâ€™t.â€ Jon spoke through clenched teeth.

â€œAh â€¦ he wasnâ€™t interested? Thatâ€™s a shame - youâ€™d have been great together.â€

â€œHe was interested enough - until I blew it.â€

Trip frowned. â€œHuh? How?â€

And then Jon had told him the whole story, from the moment Malcolm had invited him into his quarters, until the moment Jon had found himself back out in the corridor, staring stupidly at the wrong side of Malcolmâ€™s door.

As Jon finished, Trip rolled his eyes. Damn! He should have seen this coming. He dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, and then glanced up at his friend. â€œJon, when are you gonna learn that not everyone has an ideal relationship with their folks? It doesnâ€™t mean thereâ€™s anything wrong, itâ€™s just â€¦ sometimes families get along better when theyâ€™re a few light-years apart.â€

Jon shifted uncomfortably. â€œYou should have seen him, Trip â€” Captain Stuart Reed of His Majestyâ€™s Royal Navy. The man looked like heâ€˜d spent his entire life sucking a lemon.â€

â€œEven so, itâ€™s still none of your business.â€

Jon shook his head and smiled ruefully. â€œI guess Iâ€™ve learned that the hard way.â€ He sighed. â€œYou â€¦ seem to know Malcolm better than I do, Trip. What can I do?â€

Trip shrugged. â€œGive him some time to cool down, I guess. And apologise. Make it clear you know you were out of line.â€

â€œYou think itâ€™ll be that simple?â€

Jon had sounded so hopeful that Trip hated to disillusion him. â€œI think ... itâ€™ll salvage your working relationship â€” Malcolmâ€™s a professional, and youâ€™re still his captain. But whether heâ€™ll ever accept you as anything more than that again ... you know what a private person he is. Heâ€™s opened that door to you once, and it backfired on him. I donâ€™t think thereâ€™s much chance of him doing it again.â€ 

Malcolmâ€™s head lolled against Tripâ€™s shoulder, jolting him back to the present. â€œHey,â€ Trip said, jostling the other man gently. â€œHey, Malcolm, donâ€™t go to sleep.â€

â€œHuh?â€ Malcolm stirred and raised his head. His breath misted in the air.

â€œWeâ€™ve gotta â€¦ gotta stay awake,â€ Trip slurred. â€œCanâ€™t go to sleep â€¦â€ He didnâ€™t dare finish the thought. He nudged Malcolm with his elbow as his head began to droop again. â€œWhy donâ€™t you record sâ€™more letters or somethinâ€™?â€

â€œIâ€™ve said all I need to say.â€

Trip glanced over at him. â€œYou sure?â€

â€œYes.â€ Malcolm eyed him suspiciously. â€œWhy?â€

â€œI thought you might wanna â€¦ record one more. For the capâ€™n.â€

Malcolm stiffened. â€œNo.â€

Trip sighed. Normally he wouldnâ€™t dream of interfering in Jonâ€™s â€” or Malcolmâ€™s â€” love life, but for some reason he felt the need to try and fix this before â€¦ before it was too late. â€œJonâ€™s pretty cut up about what happened, yâ€™know,â€ he ventured, deliberately using the captainâ€™s first name. Malcolm had received Jonâ€™s apology with frosty politeness, but heâ€™d made it clear he wouldnâ€™t welcome any further personal advances. But as the weeks had passed, Trip could see how much the situation was costing both his friends. Heâ€™d seen how often Jonâ€™s doleful gaze lingered on Malcolm as he sat at the tactical station, and the way Malcolm had become even more formal and deferential to his Captain than before. Gone were the dry little asides Malcolm used to make during briefings, and he seemed to have forgotten how to smile.

â€œHow long are you gonna keep giving him the silent treatment?â€ he said at last.

Malcolm shot him a glare, and the phrase â€˜sucking a lemonâ€™ sprang unbidden into Tripâ€™s mind. Like father, like son, he thought wryly. â€œNobody besmirches my fatherâ€™s good name,â€ Malcolm said primly, â€œnot my captain, and certainly not my â€¦ boyfriend.â€

Trip noticed the small hesitation, but he didnâ€™t comment. â€œWas what he said really that bad?â€ he said softly.

â€œHe all but said that my father was a heartless, abusive ogre. On the basis of one conversation and a few disconnected pieces of information.â€

â€œWell, youâ€™ve gotta admit, you donâ€™t talk about your parents much.â€

Malcolm gave a jerky shrug. â€œSo Iâ€™m reserved. So is most of my family. We may not be the most demonstrative of people, but just because weâ€™re not huggy and kissy all the time doesnâ€™t mean we donâ€™t care about each other â€” and it certainly doesnâ€™t mean my father neglected or abused me.â€ Malcolm glowered.

â€œâ€™Course it doesnâ€™t. And Iâ€™m sure Jon didnâ€™t mean to offend you.â€ Trip hugged himself tighter under his blanket. â€œBut the thing you gotta understand about Jon is, he never really got the chance to have a real relationship with his own father.â€

Malcolm leaned against him again. â€œHow so?â€

â€œWell,â€ Trip spoke quietly, â€œhis daddy died when he was twelve. From what heâ€™s told me I guess his Mom remarried pretty soon afterwards, and Jon didnâ€™t get along with his stepfather. Heâ€™s only ever mentioned his mom maybe half a dozen times in all the time Iâ€™ve known him, but his father ... Jon idolises him. I donâ€™t think he even remembers what he was really like any more. He just has this â€¦ this image in his head of what the perfect father-son relationship should be like. But itâ€™s a little kidâ€™s version of it. He doesnâ€™t really get that when you become an adult it can be full of â€¦ of tension and contradictions and conflict.â€

Malcolm glanced at him sharply. â€œEven yours?â€

Trip gave a wry chuckle. â€œEven mine. Dad wanted me to stay in Florida and help him run his boatyard, but he had to suck it up when I decided to join Starfleet. Still grumbles about it, but at the same time ... I know heâ€™s proud of me.â€

Malcolm nodded. â€œItâ€™s the same for me. Heâ€™d always wanted me to join the Navy, but when I was accepted into Starfleet ... Mum said he walked around with his chest puffed out for a month.â€ Malcolm grinned and Trip chuckled.

â€œBut the point is,â€ Trip said, â€œJon never had that kind of experience - never had to make the decision that you and I did, to stand up to his father and be his own man. Emotionally, heâ€™s still a screwed-up twelve-year-old trying to prove heâ€™s worthy of his fatherâ€™s love. In a way thatâ€™s what this ship and this whole mission is all about for him. Itâ€™s the only way he can express his love and loyalty to his father. So he canâ€™t understand that for most fathers and sons, that conflict is a normal part of growing up, something they resolve, and then move on.â€

Malcolm looked thoughtful. â€œYou know, I never really thought about it that way before.â€ He stared down at his hands, twisting a corner of the blanket. â€œMaybe I do have another letter to record,â€ he said. â€œJust in case.â€

 

TBC ...


	3. Malcolm

Malcolm was almost relieved when Enterprise stumbled into the Romulan minefield. At least it had brought an end to what was possibly the most awkward breakfast conversation in living memory.

Heâ€™d been avoiding it for weeks, ever since the captain had made it known he was scheduling a series of â€˜informalâ€™ breakfast meetings with the senior staff. In the months since his conversation with Trip in the shuttlepod Malcolm had managed to relax a little around Jon ... the Captain. Thank God the letters heâ€™d recorded had been under an â€˜in the event of my deathâ€™ seal. The captain had never heard his last emotional farewell, and Trip had wisely kept his mouth shut. But he was still wary, sensitive to every small remark Jon made, and heâ€™d been avoiding spending time alone with the Captain whenever possible.

It helped that Jon had backed off, of course, seeming to respect the boundary Malcolm had taken such pains to re-establish. And yet there was a part of Malcolm that still longed for what might have been. So last night, when Jon had cornered him in the mess hall and demanded, â€œBreakfast, 0700 in the Captainâ€™s mess,â€ Malcolm had felt a tingle of anticipation underneath the overarching dread.

It had been a disaster, of course. The crack Jon had made about â€˜not bringing your homework to the tableâ€™ had set Malcolmâ€™s teeth on edge, too close for comfort to another veiled criticism of his upbringing. And the captainâ€™s overly-hearty yet contrived small talk about sports he had no interest in had made the experience almost as excruciating as being spiked through the leg by a Romulan mine.

Thank God for that bloody minefield.

Except that now the Captain was out here with him, and this time there could be no escape. Well, except the ultimate, but it wasnâ€™t time for that yet ...

â€œSo, where were we?â€ the captain said, his voice tinny through the EV suitâ€™s intercom.

â€œSir?â€ Malcolm blinked at the non sequitur. He was leading the captain methodically through the mineâ€™s detonation circuits, disabling them one by one. It was delicate work, requiring intense concentration, and Malcolm was conscious that between the pain from his leg and the anaesthetic in his system he was already well below par. A part of him wished it were Trip out here with him, or one of his armoury team. Anyone but Jon.

â€œThis morning at breakfast, before we were interrupted,â€ Jon explained. â€œYou said you didnâ€™t follow any particular sport?â€

â€œIâ€™m afraid I havenâ€™t started following one since breakfast, sir,â€ Malcolm snapped back. Damn, the pain and drugs were letting his snarky side creep through. He gave himself a mental shake and relayed a few more instructions to the captain.

â€œHow about hobbies?â€ Jon persisted. â€œAny hobbies?â€

â€œNo. Not really, sir,â€ Malcolm lied. He couldnâ€™t have this conversation â€“ not here, not now, not with the possibility of Tâ€™Pol and the rest of the bridge crew listening in on their inter-suit comm channel.

â€œI could have sworn Iâ€™ve seen you reading a book or two in the mess hall,â€ Jon observed.

â€œSir, do you really think this is the appropriate time for a chat?â€ Malcolm said, hoping desperately that Jon would take the hint. It was hard enough to concentrate on the schematic without having to negotiate this conversational minefield as well.

â€œIt helps me focus. Calms my nerves,â€ was Jonâ€™s breezy response.

â€œWell, it isnâ€™t calming mine!â€ Malcolm retorted.

â€œSorry.â€ Jon didnâ€™t sound at all apologetic. â€œIt made you a little nervous this morning too, didnâ€™t it? Why is that?â€

Malcolm sighed. â€œIf you must know, I was honoured to be asked to sit at your table,â€ he said stiffly. â€œI just wasnâ€™t entirely comfortable having a casual meal with my captain. I was trained not to fraternise with superior officers.â€ 

â€œNever too late to learn,â€ Jon countered.

â€œFrankly, sir, from my point of view that kind of socialising has no place on a starship.â€ _No matter what I once thought,_ Malcolm added silently. Heâ€™d allowed himself to cross that boundary once. He couldnâ€™t afford to let it happen again.

â€œI had a CO once, felt the same way,â€ Jon said. â€œâ€˜Theyâ€™re your crew, not your friends.â€™ I thought about that a lot when I took this command. But then I realised this is not your typical mission. We could be out here for years. All we have to depend on is each other.â€ 

Malcolmâ€™s heart clenched as he heard the loneliness behind the captainâ€™s words. Without at least bending the fraternisation rules, the captain could have no friends on board, no one he could talk with, relax with. Even for someone as self sufficient as Malcolm that would be difficult. For someone as gregarious as Jon it would be intolerable.

â€œThere are two left,â€ Malcolm said, turning back to the schematic. â€œTop left first.â€

â€œI appreciate your suggestions, Malcolm,â€ Jon said. â€œAnything else?â€

_In for a penny,_ Malcolm thought, relieved to be able to steer the conversation away from the personal. â€œWell, since you asked,â€ he said, â€œbridge protocols have become somewhat lax. Too many people offering opinions. Weâ€™re here to carry out your orders, sir. Youâ€™re the captain.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s the point in having a senior staff if they just sit around with their mouths shut?â€ Jon responded. â€œIâ€™m glad they have opinions. I rely on them.â€ He paused, concentrating on the mine for a moment. â€œKeep going.â€  
â€œAnd in the area of security, I sometimes think you could show a little more caution, sir.â€ It was an old conversation, but always worth mentioning.

â€œIâ€™m aware of your concerns in that area.â€

â€œNot to say it hasnâ€™t been a privilege to have served with you,â€ Malcolm added.

Jon made a disapproving noise.

â€œSir?â€

â€œYouâ€™re talking in the past tense, Lieutenant.â€

And there was the crux of the problem, Malcolm thought. Malcolm had always accepted that he might have to sacrifice himself for the good of the ship, but Jon wasnâ€™t prepared to let him. How could Malcolm ever be sure that it wasnâ€™t because of his personal feelings? The argument against fraternisation had always been that it would lead to favouritism among the crew, that a captain might risk his entire crew rather than place someone he was personally involved with in harmâ€™s way. But even Malcolm could see that the Enterprise crew was becoming a close-knit community, a family. And Jon ... he had to admit, Jon was like that with everyone. Heâ€™d sacrifice himself before any one of his crewmembers â€“ from his long-time friend Trip down to the lowliest crewman, whether theyâ€™d known each other for years or had barely been introduced.

While Jon and Malcolm had been working on the mine, Travis had been carefully navigating Enterprise out of the minefield. Now, as they turned to the final detonation circuit, he finally announced that they were clear, and Malcolm breathed a little easier.

â€œYou mustâ€™ve realised this wasnâ€™t going to be your typical armoury posting,â€ Jon said. â€œThat my command style lacked a certain spit and polish.â€

â€œIt was obvious, if you donâ€™t mind my saying so,â€ Malcolm confessed, although at the time the lure of deep space had overridden his misgivings.

â€œStrange.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s strange, sir?â€

â€œI understand you came from a long line of Royal Navy men,â€ Jon said. â€œYour father, your grandfather. Why pick Starfleet? Why not continue the family tradition?â€

â€œGod knows I tried.â€ Malcolm shook his head, remembering.

â€œWhat happened?â€

Malcolm took a moment, covering his discomfort by asking Jon to hand him a circuit probe. Did he really dare tell Jon this; reveal this part of himself? 

â€œSo what happened?â€ Jon prompted.

â€œI was raised on the water,â€ Malcolm began. â€œI knew how to handle a boat before I could ride a bicycle. Studied all the great naval battles. I donâ€™t know, I suppose I thought Iâ€™d just grow out of it.â€

â€œGrow out of what?â€ Jon said.

â€œAquaphobia,â€ Malcolm confessed quietly, the word dropping like a tombstone from his lips.

â€œYouâ€™re afraid of the water?â€

â€œMore precisely, afraid of drowning.â€

â€œSo instead of a life on the sea, you chose a life in the vacuum of space?â€

Malcolm nodded. â€œI had a great uncle who suffered from the same problem. But he faced his fears, joined the Navy, had a distinguished career.â€

As they continued to work, Malcolm told Jon the tragic story of the HMS Clement, his great uncleâ€™s submarine. Told him how, on a routine patrol, in peacetime, the Clement hit a long-forgotten mine and became trapped beneath the arctic ice. And told him how his great uncle had died, sealed in the engine room as the ship went down, keeping the reactor running long enough for the crew to reach the escape pods.

â€œHe went down with the ship,â€ Malcolm concluded. â€œHe did what he had to do to save his crewmates.â€

Jon gazed at Malcolm, his expression unreadable through the EV suitâ€™s face plate. â€œI appreciate what youâ€™re trying to tell me, Malcolm,â€ he said, â€œbut I was hoping youâ€™d be able to save your heroics for another time.â€

â€œI just want you to know, sir, that I am prepared.â€

â€œGot you.â€

â€œIf weâ€™re not able to defuse this mine, the safety of the crewâ€”â€

â€œI said I heard you, Lieutenant,â€ Jon snapped.

Malcolm held Jonâ€™s stare for a long, long moment. He gave no quarter, but Jon wasnâ€™t backing down either. Jon needed to win this, Malcolm realised. He simply couldnâ€™t accept that it might become necessary detach the hull plating and sacrifice Malcolm to save the rest of the crew. But Malcolm needed Jon to focus on the mine, so there was no sense in fighting that battle with him here and now. Malcolm knew the value of a tactical retreat.

A little humour might ease the tension, he thought as he looked away from Jonâ€™s gaze. â€œIâ€™m afraid we have another problem, sir,â€ he said.

â€œWhat? What is it?â€

â€œI need to use the bathroom.â€

Jon chuckled. â€œI wonâ€™t tell a soul.â€

â€œIn my EV suit, sir?â€ Malcolm joined in Jonâ€™s laughter as the tension dissipated. He glanced down to check the schematic on his PADD, and looked up again just in time to see the two Romulan ships materialise directly behind the captain.

â€œSir!â€ he called, just as the captain reached for the final circuit.

To his credit, Jon kept calm as they listened to the comm traffic back and forth between the Romulans and the Enterprise bridge. They were running out of time. Malcolm relayed the last few instructions, but as the captain deactivated the final circuit, his sensor schematic lit up like a Christmas tree as the mine began to arm itself.

â€œReset that component, quickly!â€ Malcolm yelled.

â€œWhat happened?â€ Jon said, following the instruction.

â€œWhen you deactivated that final circuit, it triggered a subdetonator.â€

â€œHow can we get to it?â€

â€œWe canâ€™t,â€ Malcolm said. â€œItâ€™s too deep inside. Weâ€™d have to dismantle the entire mine. Captain, those heroics we spoke about ... I think it may be time. Youâ€™ve done all you can, sir. For what itâ€™s worth, youâ€™d make a fine armoury officer.â€

Jon argued â€“ of course he did â€“ threatening to dismantle the mine piece by piece if he had to. But Malcolm knew it was too dangerous, and in any case there simply wasnâ€™t time. Even if they didnâ€™t trip a circuit and blow the entire ship and everyone on it to cosmic dust, the Romulans would most likely open fire long before they were done.

There was only one way he was going to win this argument, and that was to take the matter out of the captainâ€™s hands. As Jon examined the mine again, Malcolm reached behind himself and detached his oxygen supply.

Asphyxiation wasnâ€™t the worst way to die. He struggled to breathe for a few moments, dimly aware of the hiss of O2 escaping from his suit, the looming Romulan ships, the throb of pain from his leg, and the Captain, reduced to slow motion by his magnetic boots, lunging towards him. With his last moments of consciousness Malcolm tried to push him away, and then he slipped away ...

He awoke to find himself in Jonâ€™s arms, but not in a good way. The pain in his leg flared anew as the captain glared down at him. â€œIf I were the kind of captain you think I should be, Iâ€™d bust your ass back to crewman,â€ he said, as soon as he was sure he had Malcolmâ€™s full attention.

â€œBegging your pardon, sir, but if you were that kind of captain, we wouldnâ€™t be having this conversation. Youâ€™d have cut me loose by now,â€ Malcolm replied wearily.

â€œIâ€™m not gonna do that, Malcolm.â€ Jon said. He glanced at the mine. â€œWhen we triggered that subdetonator, why didnâ€™t the mine explode right away? How many seconds went by before I rearmed it?â€

â€œSir?â€ Malcolm said, his brain still trying to process the fact that he wasnâ€™t dead.

â€œHow many seconds?â€ Jon pressed him.

â€œI donâ€™t remember. Ten, maybe twelve,â€ Malcolm guessed.

â€œIt felt more like twenty.â€

â€œTen, twenty, whatâ€™s the difference?â€

â€œIf it had exploded, how big would the yield have been?â€

â€œJudging by the damage the first mine caused, Iâ€™d guess about a quarter of a kiloton. What are you getting at, sir?â€

Jon gazed earnestly down at him. â€œI think Iâ€™ve figured out a way to get us out of this, but I need to go inside and work out the details with Trip. Malcolm ... Iâ€™m going to trust you, but I need you to trust me. I need you to promise me you wonâ€™t disconnect that hose again the minute Iâ€™m out of sight.â€

He could have lied, and looking back Malcolm was never entirely sure why he didnâ€™t. Perhaps it was because the captain had framed it as a request rather than an order, or perhaps it was the desperate plea in his voice, but as the words left his lips, Malcolm knew they were the truth. â€œI ... I trust you, Captain. Iâ€™ll still be here when you return. I promise.â€

Jon patted his shoulder. â€œGood man.â€

And then he was gone, and Malcolm was left alone on the hull. In the eerie silence broken only by the sound of his own breathing he fixed his gaze on the two Romulan ships, trying not to imagine their captains getting ready to open fire. It seemed like an age before the Captain returned, and Malcolm was startled to see him carrying two large, bulky items that as he drew closer revealed themselves to be shuttlepod hatches. 

â€œWhat on earth ...?â€ he said as Jon handed him one and knelt down beside him.

â€œIâ€™ve told Trip to detach the hull plating,â€ the captain said, â€œand then Iâ€™m gonna cut you free.â€

â€œSir, you canâ€™t ...â€ Malcolm objected.

â€œWeâ€™ll have twenty secondsâ€”â€

_Ten,_ Malcolm thought.

â€œâ€”to push off from here. The hatches will shield us from the explosion.â€

Malcolm made a few mental calculations. It could work ... maybe. If the few secondsâ€™ delay was repeated when Jon cut through the spike, if they could get far enough away, if they could align the â€˜pod hatches properly ...

â€œI suppose itâ€™s worth a try, sir,â€ he said. â€œGiven the alternative.â€ He gave Jon a rueful smile.

Jon grinned, and clapped him heartily on the shoulder. â€œThatâ€™s the spirit.â€

Malcolm winced as pain lanced through his thigh. â€œI really wish youâ€™d stop doing that,â€ he said through gritted teeth.

â€œWhat?â€

â€œJolting my leg, sir.â€

â€œOh! Sorry.â€ Jon looked contrite. â€œHopefully that wonâ€™t be a problem for much longer.â€

In the end it was over remarkably quickly. Malcolm held his breath and counted slowly as the captain used a plasma torch to cut through the spike pinning him to the hull, but he lost track in the rush to push himself free and the explosion and the frantic moments before Travis skilfully scooped them into Enterpriseâ€™s launch bay like two butterflies in a net.

â€œYou all right?â€ Jon said, removing Malcolmâ€™s helmet and carefully lifting him from where heâ€™d sprawled on the floor when the artificial gravity was activated.

Malcolm nodded. â€œAll things considered. If I may say so, sir, your style of command does have its advantages.â€

Jon smirked. â€œSo, how long was it?â€

â€œI counted ten seconds,â€ Malcolm said, just for the hell of it.

â€œTen? It was more like twenty.â€ Jon played along.

â€œRespectfully, sir, it was ten,â€ Malcolm insisted.

â€œIâ€™m not going to argue with you, Malcolm,â€ Jon said. â€œIt was twenty. Thatâ€™s an order.â€

They were still grinning at each other when the launch bay doors opened to admit Trip, Tâ€™Pol and Phloxâ€™s medical team. Malcolm was reluctant to take his eyes from Jonâ€™s face as Phlox administered a second dose of anaesthetic and the medics hoisted him onto the gurney. Heâ€™d expected the captain to leave him and head for the kit room or the bridge, but instead he trailed behind the small procession on its way to sickbay. Jonâ€™s face was the last thing Malcolm saw as Phlox prepped him for surgery. It really was very nice of him to ...

The captainâ€™s face was also the first thing he saw when he came round from the anaesthesia, his leg, now minus any stray bits of Romulan mine, encased in a protective tube and throbbing numbly. _Missed the bone my arse,_ he thought.

â€œHey,â€ Jon said as he noticed Malcolmâ€™s eyes had flickered open.

â€œHello,â€ Malcolm said thickly. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool.

â€œHere.â€ Jon quickly retrieved a cupful of water from the nightstand and helped Malcolm take a few sips. â€œBetter?â€

â€œYes, thank you sir.â€ Malcolm lay back against the pillows.

The silence lengthened between them. There was so much Malcolm wanted to say, but somehow he couldnâ€™t find the words for any of it. He could see his own emotions mirrored all too clearly in the captainâ€™s face â€“ the relief, the uncertainty, the regret ...

Abruptly the captain cleared his throat. â€œWell, I guess you must be tired. I should leave you in peace.â€

He reached towards Malcolm as if to give him an affectionate pat on the shoulder, but pulled back at the last second. On an impulse Malcolm caught his hand and pulled it against his chest, stroking the back of it with his thumb. He gazed up at Jon, watching a disbelieving, almost shy smile play about his lips.

â€œCaptain ... Jon. If youâ€™d like to stay Iâ€™d welcome the company.â€

Jonâ€™s smile widened as he pulled a chair over to Malcolmâ€™s bed and sat down. He reached for Malcolmâ€™s hand again, and Malcolm took it without hesitation.

â€œSo,â€ Jon said, â€œwhy donâ€™t you tell me about the remarkable Stuart Reed?â€

 

~end~


End file.
